


Is tú mo ghrá

by cottonpadenthusiast



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Irish Language, M/M, Neville Longbottom is a Good Friend, Pining, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottonpadenthusiast/pseuds/cottonpadenthusiast
Summary: "No bread of life could salvage him. No prayers nor confessions could make up for his sins. He was damned for he worshipped a different god.He worshipped Dean."





	Is tú mo ghrá

Seamus Finnigan was no stranger, no acquaintance to pain. It was not new to him, the various types of it. He had experienced them all; the sharp edging type that stabbed at your heart, the slow dull type that remained for much longer than you wished, the burning ripping one that crawled up your throat and burned in your chest.

It was the latter that Seamus felt as he stared at Dean from across The Three Broomsticks. Dean was sat with Ginny, arm slung around her should and face pressed into her hair. He whispered something into her ear. She giggled and blushed. Dean smirked.

Seamus glared into the forgotten Butterbeer in his hand and felt the fire burn in his chest. 

It seemed pain was his only friend now.

“Alright, Seamus?”

Neville’s voice shook Seamus from his thoughts as the blond boy sat opposite him at the small wooden table. The other boy’s smile was wide. Too wide.

“Aye, I’m grand,” Seamus replied, bringing his drink to his lips to drown the burning of his throat. “What’s the craic with you?”

Neville shrugged. “Nothing much. You just looked like you needed some company.”

“I’ve got a bottle of Firewhiskey in my bag, mate. What more company could I want?”

Seamus watched as Neville laughed, his shoulders rising up and down, up and down, his laughter quiet and small. It was nothing like Dean’s laugh. Dean’s laugh was loud, deep and he always clapped his hands together at least once. And no matter how much he laughed, his eyes never left yours and you could see the glee, the warmth, the happiness within them. His eyes were so full of joy you could drown in it.

Seamus had drowned a long time ago and never resurfaced.

“As much as drink is great company, I think actual human interaction is slightly more beneficial, Seamus.”

“I beg to differ.”

Neville rolled his eyes. “I came over to ask you about that Potions essay that was due. I was thinking of doing it on the preparation of Polyjuice potion compared to Amortentia but I’m not sure if that’s what Snape…”

Seamus’ focus turned from Neville, who continued to babble on about the comparisons in equipment used in brewing, to Dean.

Seamus didn’t know how long he had felt like this. Even as a child, he had paid no heed to the girl’s who played in the park near his home. He pretended he did, of course, the way he had all his life. He smiled shyly whenever his da would tease about girls in his school, he winked at his female classmates as they walked by, even kissed a few just to be safe. Just to be safe that no one that something was very wrong with him.

It was Dean that made Seamus realise that no amount of pretending could fix him. Dean with his brown curls and soft smile and little dimples. Dean who had made Seamus’ heart ache with want the moment he sat opposite him on the Hogwarts Express. Dean who was the boy that Seamus loved.

Boy. Seamus was in love with a boy.

Seamus had prayed of course. Years of Sunday Mass and lectures from his da had told him that if he prayed hard enough, God would answer him. Either he hadn’t prayed hard enough or they were all lying, because he was still broken. He still loved Dean. And no boy should ever love a boy in that way. It was unnatural. His da had told him as much.

Seamus didn’t go to Mass anymore. Nothing could save him now.

There was the pain again, blooming in Seamus’ chest. Although, this time it was the slow, deep type. The self-hatred type. The type that Seamus knew he deserved.

“You know, just because he’s with Ginny doesn’t mean he’s gonna leave you, right?”

Seamus whipped his head around to stare at Neville, who evidently had stopped talking a long time ago. The blond boy had a knowing look in his eyes that sent a bolt of fear through Seamus’ heart.

“Dean’s a good lad. He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just a little Ginny obsessed at the moment. It will pass. But if it doesn’t, maybe have a word with him. He won’t get upset if you tell him how you’re feeling.”

Seamus glanced to Dean. His hands were cupping Ginny’s cheeks and his lips were pressing kisses to her own, tiny gentle kisses that Seamus had once dreamed of receiving. Dean was so utterly straight. And Seamus was so utterly not.

Dean wouldn’t be upset if Seamus told me his feelings.

He would be disgusted.

Seamus turned back to Neville. “Aye, I know, Nev. But there’s no point saying anything. He’s happy with her. I won’t ruin that.”

“But are  _you_ happy?” Neville’s eyes were trained on Seamus’ face, searching, looking for something Seamus would never reveal.

Seamus looked to his best friend. Somehow, his heart swelled and broke at the same time looking at that boy. He was devastatingly beautiful in a way Seamus had only ever heard of in the old Irish tales his ma told him as a child. 

Dean was a hymn that Seamus could only dream of singing.

Pain. That was something Seamus Finnigan was familiar with.

Happiness. Seamus couldn’t even call them acquaintances.

Seamus smiled ruefully. 

“Of course I’m happy, Longbottom. When am I not?”

 

* * *

 

Seamus stared blankly at the cushion in front of him. It was pink and lined with purple stitching at the side, a green clover placed in the centre, it’s four leaves moving as if swaying in the wind.

It was a bloody ugly cushion if he was honest.

“Are you going to change that into a hat or are you going to stare at it all day?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” Seamus mumbled, shaking out of his daydream and purposefully ignoring the concerned glance of the boy beside him.

Dean placed his hand gently on Seamus’ arm. “Seamus, are you alright?”

“M’fine.” Seamus shrugged Dean’s hand off, his arm on fire from where Dean’s hot touch had burned through his clothes, past his skin and seared directly onto his heart.

“It’s just… you haven’t been yourself lately.”

Seamus looked to the spell that was chalked onto the board. “How not?”

“Well, we haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks.”

“I wanted to give you space after the whole Ginny breakup thing.” Seamus lifted his wand and began practising his movements in the air.

“Space is the last thing I need right now, Seamus.” Dean’s voice was low and quiet.

Seamus gripped his wand tighter. “Well, maybe space is what I need right now.”

“What? Why would  _you_  need space?”

“Because…because-”

Dean grabbed Seamus’ shoulder and pushed so that they were facing each other. “What the hell is wrong with you, Seamus? Just tell me what’s going on. You’ve been ignoring me. You’ve been ignoring  _everybody_. You’ve got bags under your eyes because you never sleep anymore and I can’t remember the last time you even laughed. Please. You’re my best mate. Talk to me.”

“Jesus fecking Christ, Dean. Give me a break!” Seamus shoved Dean away and lifted his wand. “Let me just do this bloody stupid spell and stop slagging me off.”

Seamus quickly spun out the wand movements and felt his magic surge through his body. All of his magic travelled to his hand and he already knew what was going to happen even before he uttered a single word of the spell.

Smoke. It was everywhere. He could feel it clogging his throat and burn his nostrils, his eyes watering from the ash filling the classroom. His ears rang slightly, dulling the shouts and laughs from the classroom to nothing until all that was left was Seamus, the smoke and the ringing in his ears.

He looked to Dean, whose hands were covering his mouth to stop him breathing in the smoke. It reminded Seamus of the incense they burned at Mass. He could almost smell it now, the warm, thick scent of it, filling the church as he received the holy communion from the hands of Father Fergus. He had kneeled down after in his stall and prayed that his sins would be forgiven. 

But no bread of life could salvage him. No prayers nor confessions could make up for his sins. He was damned for he worshipped a different god.

He worshipped Dean.

“MR FINNIGAN!” McGonagall’s voice dragged Seamus back into focus. It came from behind the cloud of smoke, which suddenly disappeared to reveal a classroom of giggling teenagers and her glare directed right at Seamus.

God, he hated himself.

“Please, for the love of Merlin, think about a spell before you cast it, Mr Finnigan.”

“Yes, Professor.” Seamus was only thankful that the ash on his face covered his burning cheeks.

“Mr Thomas, go help Seamus clean himself up. I’ll get rid of the mess you made.”

“Yes, Professor,” Dean mumbled as Seamus shoved past him. Seamus was out into the corridor and running to the common room even before Dean had picked up his bags.

It was there again. The pain. The stabbing type that caused broken sobs to rip from Seamus’ throat. His vision was blurry with the tears that seared down his face as he ran and ran and ran, ignoring Dean’s shouts from far behind.

The wrongness of his existence was like a knife to his heart and all he could do was bleed.

He reached the dorm and fell to his knees by the window. The rain thudded against the glass in heavy droplets as he clenched his shaking hands together and closed his eyes. The taste of salt from his tears filled his mouth.

Seamus prayed.

He begged and implored with rushed whispered pleads that he wouldn’t be like this anymore, that he wouldn’t be wrong and shameful and in love with a boy. He prayed that his da would never find out and that his ma would never have to hide her son, her gay son.

He begged that, through his choked sobs, God would answer his prayers.

“Seamus…” 

Dean’s voice cut through Seamus’ whispers like a blade and he whipped around, stumbling as he rose and pressed his back against the wall. 

“Dean. Go.” Seamus’ heavy pants echoed around the room, his cheeks soaked with his own tears.

Their eyes met. Seamus’ own heavenly hell was within those brown eyes.

“No.”

Seamus swallowed. “Please.”

“No.” Dean stepped closer.

“Please, Dean. Please go.” Seamus’ voice cracked and he collapsed onto the floor. His body shook with empty sobs.

Pain coursed through him, swallowing him whole. This pain could not be categorised, not defined. It was all and everything. It was him.

“Seamus. Fuck.” Dean swiftly knelt down beside Seamus and wrapped his arms around him, holding him against his chest.

The comfort Seamus felt in those arms was pain in itself.

“Seamus…please. Tell me what’s going on.”

Seamus closed his eyes tight shut, allowing himself, this once, to feel. To feel the soft thud of Dean’s heart against his chest and to know it like his own. To feel Dean’s arms around him and imagine that he woke up in those arms every day. To feel Dean’s love and pretend it was just for him.

Just Seamus and Dean. Nothing more.

“I’m in love with you,” Seamus whispered, voicing the words he had mouthed to Dean’s head in class, the words he had mumbled in Irish to Dean’s sleeping form, the words that had haunted him for three years.

Pain gripped his soul.

Dean’s breath stopped. He stood up, away from Seamus. “What?”

“I’m in love with you.” Seamus croaked, staring at the ground. “I love you like a guy loves a girl. But I’m a guy…and you’re a guy. And I still love you.”

Dean’s silence was suffocating.

“I don’t want this. I’ve done everything, Dean. Everything. I tried so many spells and potions and nothing worked. Nothing worked. And I still feel this way. I’m wrong. I’m disgusting and I need to find something, anything to stop this. I’m so sorry.”

The only sound was the pattering of the rain and the hard thudding of Seamus’ heart.

“You love me like a man loves a man.”

Seamus’ head shot up. “What?”

“Not like a man loves a woman. You love me like a man loves a man. And  _I_ love you like a man loves a man.”

Seamus’ heart stopped.

Dean bent down and wiped a tear from Seamus’ face. “You’ve still got ash all over your face,” he whispered, smiling as a single tear rolled down his own cheek.

“You… you love me?” The pain in Seamus’ chest was gone, replaced by a loud, shaky hope that bloomed like the tulips that his mam always planted in spring.

“Of course I do. And there is nothing wrong or disgusting or evil about that, Seamus. A man loving a man is as right and beautiful as a man loving a woman. And no matter what your dad or your religion says, nothing will change how much I am in love with you and how right that is.”

Seamus didn’t know what came over him in that moment, but suddenly he was pressing his lips against Dean’s and kissing him in the way he thought he never would, in a way so full of love and joy and relief that both of their cheeks were stained with tears as they pulled away.

“Yer a dipshit, you know that?” Seamus laughed, as Dean pressed kisses up and down his neck and held him so close that Seamus could barely breathe.

Seamus did not know that kissing could feel like this, like the world no longer existed and all that was left was him and Dean and this heaven.

Dean smiled against his neck. Seamus already adored that feeling. “Why?”

“Because you waited six years to snog me and then did it when I look like I’ve just walked through a volcanic explosion.”

“You’ve never looked better.”

“Bastard.”

Dean snorted and Seamus lifted his head to see the glow in the brown eyes that always came when he laughed. He had missed looking at that. He had missed Dean more than he could ever admit.

Dean brushed a stray lock of hair from Seamus’ eyes. “Please talk to me if you ever feel like that again. You don’t deserve to hurt alone.”

“I will. It’s just been a rough few months.”

“I’m so sorry, Seamus. How did I not see? I was such an idiot and you were hurting and I did nothing.”

Seamus cupped Dean’s cheek. “Hey, that’s not your fault. My shitty feelings are  _my_  problem, not yours. I should have spoken to you earlier but I was scared. I still am. The thought of telling my da…”

“We don’t have to tell him until you’re ready. And if you do, I’ll be right by your side. As for everyone else, we can wait until we’re ready but I know they will all be supportive of us. But you’ll always have me. Always.”

Seamus sighed, leaning his head against Dean’s chest. “Is tú mo ghrá.”

“What?”

Seamus closed his eyes and smiled, allowing the soft drum of Dean’s heart to fill his head and soul.

“I love you,” he whispered and fell asleep feeling, for the first time, free.

**Author's Note:**

> Go raibh maith agat! (and no, I did not use google translate for any of the irish phrases thank you very much)


End file.
